


I am Damaged

by incredibly_cold



Series: The Hamfam goes to college [14]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: College AU, Depression, Gen, Internalized Homophobia, Modern AU, Self Loathing, attempted suicide, discussion of previous trauma, it's pretty dark so sorry about that, not very shippy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 02:31:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7023157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incredibly_cold/pseuds/incredibly_cold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing has ever been easy for John. It seems like every time something goes even slightly well for him, it ends up turning around and making everything ten times worse. For a long time he was willing to deal with it, put it off as the normal ups and downs of life. Eventually things would balance out. At a certain point though, he lost his faith in that.  Here he is, one chance to stop things from ever going wrong again. He'd have to be an idiot to pass it up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dying is Easy, Living is Harder

**Author's Note:**

> You don't HAVE to read any of the other parts of the series, but it'll be really help if you've at least read this one https://archiveofourown.org/works/6941086

John had a hard time believing that this was happening to him again. How many people managed to bear witness to armed robbery multiple times? But here he was, in a bank this time, instead of a gas station, but the situation was still familiar. A man screaming and waving a gun, saying that no one would get hurt if they just cooperated. Funny, his dad had always talked about how black and latino men were thugs, but both times he'd been held at gunpoint, it was by a white guy.

"Don't try to be a hero!" The man was shouting. Not to John specifically, but to the general public.

How was it that this was happening to him again? It had to be fate. He'd just come to the bank to cash his paycheck (yes, now that his dad knew he was gay, he'd been cut off and needed an income) and this asshole walked in. He'd sat down with the rest of the people there. It was a pretty slow day. The only other person there who wasn't an employee was a woman probably in her thirties. She was crying and screaming, like it seemed everyone was. That really irritated him. If everyone could just shut up for a minute he could think.

Was this guy actually willing to kill someone? The safety on the gun was off, so it was looking that way. Still, that didn't necessarily mean the gun was loaded. He almost wished he'd been a bigger gun enthusiast as a kid, because he was pretty sure he should be able to tell.

It seemed like everything in his life was destined to go wrong. He couldn't think of anything that he had ever loved or enjoyed that hadn't been taken away. There was the obvious exception of his friends, Hercules and Marie, and of his boyfriend, Alex, but he knew his time with them was limited too. When they graduated, they would drift apart and probably never speak again. That was just how things went.

He considered the danger in front of him, and why he didn't seem to care at all about it, even though everyone else was freaking out. They had happy lives, something they were afraid to lose. John accepted loss more readily than he accepted gaining anything that could be lost in the future. He was aware that other people didn't necessarily think that way. That his level of apathy towards everything was reason for concern. He couldn't help it, ever since he was a sophomore in high school he'd been throwing himself into dangerous situations in the hopes that maybe he could stop the pain of always losing everything without hurting the people around him by making them think it was suicide. He didn't want anyone to blame themselves or say that they should have been able to stop it.

Here he was, in another perfect situation. He could take it or leave it, the choice was his. Did he stay seated where he was in the hopes that someday things would get better? In the past five years he'd had very little evidence to support that theory. For a while he'd thought he was turning a corner. He had friends who loved him, despite his being gay. He'd always assumed that was impossible. It was a fear that had plagued him for years, that if anyone knew the truth, they would hate him. He even had a boyfriend, and an excellent one at that. Then, all that shit had happened with his dad. That had destroyed what he had thought was his progress towards getting better. Still, would getting shot and dying really be better? It would be an end to everything. Nothing good would happen, nothing in his life would magically fix itself, but it would stop getting worse.

In the end, that was all John really wanted, wasn't it? He wanted things to stop getting worse. Not that it usually mattered what he wanted. Maybe it did here though. Maybe this was the universe's way of saying 'hey John, I know I've been shitty to you lately, but maybe this will make up for things.' Maybe this was his chance to die a hero, as the robber had instructed him not to.

John had made his decision. He would accept this little gift from the universe.

Slowly and calmly, he stood up. The gunman immediately started shouting at him, threatening. John didn't care. He didn't even listen to what he was saying. Instead, he took a step forward. It was kind of like being underwater, he was dimly aware of sounds, but he couldn't really make them out. Still nothing had happened. He measured the distance between himself and the gun in his mind. If he started running now, would he get there before the other man had the chance to shoot? He wanted this to look good, convincing. Why should a robber indulge him in an assisted suicide if he didn't look like a real threat?

It was too short a distance to really run, but if he did his slower run, like people do when they're letting a kid beat them in a race, that should work.

John started, tried to make himself look intimidating. acted like he was reaching for the gun. It was easy, just a few seconds of acting. Not even a full scene, really. Not even something he needed to rehearse.

He heard three shots, and felt the pain, so close together he didn't know which came first. Absurdly, he wondered about that. The speed of sound was surely faster than a bullet, but how long did it take his ears to process and register the sound compared to his nerves telling his brain that there were now three bullet holes in his body? He was a little disappointed that he wouldn't be able to test it.

He hit the ground, heard more screaming. Someone was at his side suddenly, holding some kind of fabric to his chest and shoulder, pressing hard. He wanted to tell them to stop. Tell them that he didn't want them to try to save him, that they were hurting him. In both places they pressed, it felt like he was being tortured. Getting shot hurt by itself, but their attempts to save him hurt worse. He was only dimly aware when someone put a tourniquet on his arm. He knew from the pain that he'd been shot there too, but it was overshadowed by the other two wounds. He wondered how many people were over here trying to save him, but his eyes were scrunched shut against the agony, and he couldn't open them.

  
He heard sirens, someone was moving him, talking to him. It all muddled into a incoherent, deafening roar, and then he felt himself starting to fade away into darkness.

* * *

The only thing more uncomfortable than hiding the fact that he was in a constant state of wanting to die, was having all of his friends  _know_  that he was in a constant state of wanting to die. He had a vague recollection of telling them, in his anesthesia-induced stupor. He had woken up slowly. Opened his eyes with a sense of dread that was dimmed by whatever drugs they had him on. Then, almost as soon as he was aware of his surroundings, Alex was   


yelling at him, telling him that he could have gotten himself killed.

John was miserable, numb, and weak. He didn't have the energy to cry, even though he wanted to. He couldn't even move. "That was kind of the point, actually." He'd murmured. Then everyone fell blissfully silent, and he could sleep again.

When he woke up, everyone was there. It was hard to say how long he'd been out, so he didn't know if they'd come back or just never left. He could hear them talking. They seemed louder than they should have been, like they were shouting even though he could tell they were being quiet. His mind was too fuzzy to connect any of their words into coherent sentences or conversation. When they noticed his eyes were open, they all stopped talking. No chastising him for being so reckless, no calling him an idiot. It was uncharacteristic of them.

Everyone was overly friendly with him. They talked about stupid things like the weather, and somehow completely avoided any mention of him getting shot. John remembered what he'd told them, and he knew they were trying to be delicate about it, but it didn't help. Every second that they looked at him with their uneasy expressions made him feel like he was going to vomit. To make matters worse, it seemed they had told the Washingtons, and even Eliza. People came in and spoke to him so gently and kindly, they brought him flowers and stuffed animals.

The one thing that no one would do was directly address the issue at hand. Sure, it wasn't an easy subject to breach, and he wasn't sure he even wanted to talk about it, but watching everyone skirt the subject was just awful. He almost wished someone would just say 'Hey John, I hear you want to kill yourself. Mind telling us what the fuck is wrong with you?' and get it over with.

He was released from the hospital after multiple surgeries to remove the bullets from his arm, chest, and shoulder, and then to remove the fragments of his shattered ribs and collarbone, and try to piece them back together, presumably. Once they were sure that there was nothing left behind to puncture a lung, or make him die of internal bleeding whenever he moved, he was given prescription pain meds and permission to leave the hospital. They told him that he was very lucky. It was only the bullets hitting his bones that had kept them from going all the way through, and that's the only reason he survived. Lucky wasn't the word he would have used. Unfortunately, he was also supposed to have someone watching him in case something went really wrong.

Martha Washington was the obvious choice, being a registered nurse and all. Since she couldn't exactly move into his and Alex's one room dorm with them, John was to stay at her house in the spare bedroom. He didn't exactly mind. She was kind, and motherly, and she talked to him while she changed his bandages. Even living with his teacher wasn't as bad as he might have thought. Knowing that they knew he was depressed, something he'd been hiding for years, was the part that made it terrible. He couldn't even look them in the eye, let alone speak. He noticed the way that Martha kept his pain pills hidden from him, and made sure to give them to him like clockwork so he wouldn't complain. He noticed that anything sharp had disappeared. They actually thought that he was going to kill himself in their house. They didn't understand that it was him taking advantage of an opportunity, that he would never do something like that to them. He couldn't make them find his body, couldn't leave a mess.

For almost three days, he didn't say a word to either of the Washingtons outside of things like 'please' and 'thank you.' He didn't look at them, didn't ask questions, and tried to make himself as unnoticeable as possible. Neither George nor Martha wanted to push him, so they didn't say much either. It was a situation he didn't exactly like, but that was better than talking about anything to them.

John noticed George hovering around him all day. It was a little unnerving, but it wasn't like he was doing anything wrong. Mostly he just slept. When he wasn't sleeping, he was either pretending to be asleep, staring at the wall, or drawing in the living room so that he looked at least somewhat functional. All the wounds were on his left side so his dominant had was still free. It was a small kindness. Even with one arm heavily bandaged and in a sling, he could still do a lot of things for himself, like brush his teeth.

George had been standing in the doorway since he'd finished putting toothpaste on the toothbrush. Luckily he'd missed the process of doing that. It was one of the more difficult things to do with only one working arm, and he knew he looked pathetic doing it. George was the kind of person who would try to help, and he couldn't deal with the shame of not doing even that simple task on his own. He was able to ignore the older man, pretend he wasn't aware of his presence. Both of them knew he was pretending, but that didn't really matter.

It was silent, aside from the bristles against his teeth. He finished, spat. Brushed his tongue, spat. Using mouthwash was also a little more complicated. Instead of struggling with trying to hold the bottle steady enough to pour into the cap without knocking it over, he'd taken to pouring it straight into his mouth. It was his own bottle, not the Washington's. If George thought that it was gross, he didn't do anything to indicate it. He did decide that it was time to speak though, after a full day of silence.

"Dying is easy, you know. Living is harder." He was quiet, calm. John had never really thought about it before, but he had a really nice voice. A nice voice did not mean that his words were helpful though.

John wasn't sure how to respond, so instead he took much longer rinsing his mouth than necessary. He allowed the burning sensation in his mouth to continue until he felt like he'd burned through a layer of mouth skin. Was it skin? He didn't really care, but it gave him something to think about for a moment. George was still there, watching him with those annoyingly calculating eyes. Waiting for a response.

It felt like a long time before he actually made eye contact. Not looking directly at him, but rather at his reflection in the mirror. "That doesn't make it sound more appealing." He managed to smile, to laugh a little. George was watching him intently, not passing judgement, but clearly making note of his reaction.

Maybe it was because he was expecting judgement and hatred, had been expecting it for years if anyone ever found out that he wasn't as happy as he pretended to be. Somehow his laughter turned to tears, and he was sobbing uncontrollably. He didn't get it, he should be happy that his teacher didn't hate him. He wasn't though, he was strangely sad for some reason. Maybe he wanted people to hate him, so it would make it easier to justify his attempt to get himself killed.

John didn't even know that Professor Washington had moved, but he felt the strong arms around him, felt himself being pulled into his teacher's strong chest. He didn't fight it. He noticed that it was his right side that the other man pulled against him, that he was being gentle with his injuries. It didn't make him feel better. It was so stupid, but he just felt worse about being an inconvenience. He couldn't seem to calm himself down either, so he just stood there and let himself cry. Let his tears soak through the older man's shirt, and tolerated the impossible heat of his own shame. John was aware that it was uncomfortable, and that George was steadfastly ignoring it. He hated being aware of that.

At some point, the older man just scooped him up and carried him to the couch. It was surprising, he didn't think he was light enough to be picked up like that, but it was also kind of nice. He felt like a little kid again. A kid whose dad didn't hate him. That just made him feel worse, and he buried his face against George's chest, accepting the comfort.

"John, you have people who care about you. They want to help you, if you'll give them the chance." He was kind and gentle, despite his matter-of-fact words. "Your dad..." He hesitated, and in that space John's mind started racing. How did he know that anything had happened with his dad? "I know you care what he thinks, but don't get too absorbed in what he says to realize that everyone else thinks you're great."

"How would you know what my dad thinks?" He couldn't keep the accusation out of his voice, and he didn't care to. That was a secret he'd kept from everyone when he got home. No one was supposed to know what happened.

There was a soft sigh, one that felt very parental. "Alex told us what happened, son. He worries about you. All of us worry about you. He wasn't trying to betray your trust, he just wanted everyone to help look out for you. It's a good thing he did too, because now we're looking out for your reckless behavior."

"Well, I think you'd have noticed this even if you didn't know what happened." John pointed out. He didn't have the energy to be mad at Alex for spilling his secrets. "So I guess that means you know everything. That Alex and I are dating."

"I didn't know that was a secret."

He shrugged with his good shoulder. "Not a well kept one, but I never told you directly, and we don't really kiss or anything when we're over. I guess I thought that if it was something you didn't approve of, you would find a way to interpret it as a really close friendship." It was true, that was how he acted with most people. He still wasn't officially 'out' to most people. In a way, he felt it was unfair to Alex, but he was too scared and selfish to change anything. "I guess that means you don't hate me for it though, since I'm allowed to be in your house. And you're okay with touching me." His voice cracked halfway through the last sentence as he remembered the way his father wouldn't even look at him when he left. He felt a fresh round of tears and tried to hold back his sobs, which only made them louder when they finally escaped him.

George was stroking his hair, and John was glad he couldn't see his face. He didn't think he could handle the pity that he knew was there. "Of course I don't hate you, neither does Martha." John involuntarily tensed at the name, like he always did. George ignored it. "You're part of the family now. She's pretty much adopted you as her own son at this point, which means that you're my son too. We love you. You being gay doesn't affect anything in the slightest."

A part of John was really glad that he didn't say it 'didn't matter' because he hated it when people said that. It did matter. He'd spent years struggling with it and trying to change it. He was filled with shame and self loathing because of it. It mattered more than he could say. George didn't dismiss that, he just said that it didn't change how they felt for him.

"I'm sorry." John's voice was hoarse.

There was a moment of silence before George responded. "It's okay. No one is upset with you."

* * *

He was more exhausted than usual when he went to bed. The drain of showing his emotions and crying built up on top of the tiredness of recovering from three bullet wounds, and he found it much easier to drift off to sleep. When he finally opened his eyes again, the light coming through the window told him it was well into the day. He wasn't sure what had woken him until he rolled over and saw Martha beside the bed. "It's time to take your pills and change your bandages, John. Can you get up?"

He dragged himself out of bed and followed her to the living room so she could take care of him. She was so gentle, like always. Afraid he might break if she moved him around too much. She was a nice woman, he'd liked her from the beginning. She insisted that he call her Martha instead of Mrs. Washington. Instead, he'd taken it one step forward and started calling her Mary. She was delighted that he felt comfortable enough to give her a nickname. Now, he alternated between that and calling her mom. Hercules had started that one on accident, but he and Alex and Marie had all jumped on it. She liked it anyway.

"George didn't jostle your shoulder any, did he?" She asked him kindly. It was the kind of small talk they always went through while she did this. Yes or no questions, so he didn't have to talk more than he wanted.

One thing was very different this time though. George was back, hanging in the doorway. "Of course I din't jostle him, Martha." Again, John's shoulders tensed involuntarily, and he bit his lip. "I'm not some kind of caveman who goes around ripping people's arms off." George was completely unaware of what just happened.

Mrs. Washington had frozen, and was watching John closely. She'd noticed, he knew it. She saw it, and she was going to ask about it. This week was just trying to force him to expose all his vulnerabilities.

"Martha?" George's confused voice broke through the silence. Apparently he'd expected a laugh or something from her. Of course he had to call her by name instead of having cute pet names. John flinched more obviously this time, because the word cut through the silence like a knife, and because he was actually afraid now. Afraid of the name. It wasn't a reflex, it was a reaction to a very real and present danger.

"John?" She ignored her husband and spoke in a low voice, like someone would talk to a frightened animal. "Are you afraid of my name?"

He couldn't really lie about it, the evidence was all there. She was really asking him why, not if, and they both knew it. He looked away, anywhere but at the two of them. "I guess, yeah." It wasn't satisfactory and he knew it, but he didn't really care.

"Have I done something?"

That made his heart lurch. Here was this woman, the sweetest person he'd ever met, and she thought she had done something to hurt him. He really was doing a great job of making sure no one felt responsible for his problems. "No, of course not. You're like my mom, you're great. You've been nothing but kind to me."

It cleared her of any responsibility without actually relieving her of any stress or concern, and he was aware of that, but he wasn't all that excited about telling them what  _had_  happened with Martha. The  _other_  Martha. He supposed there was no point in hiding it though, now that they knew every other secret he'd been struggling to keep. "Is it okay to ask what happened?" She asked gently.

He didn't answer for a while, just debated in his own head about whether telling them would be at all beneficial. Talking about things was supposed to help. Maybe it would be good to tell them. Then again, they could also be the least understanding of the situation. That was the part that gave him pause, because these were the people that were letting him live with them. He'd had such a nice moment with George yesterday. He'd only just worked up the courage to actually speak full sentences to them. "I don't really know what there is to say." He finally started. "It was just one big mistake, and it ended really badly."

John looked into Martha's concerned eyes. She really did care about him, even if he didn't get why. It was a split second decision, but he decided that she would be understanding about whatever he told her. George too. "Fuck it. Basically the story starts out that I am really gay, and I hate myself for it." 

Before either of them could comment on that, he held up his good hand. "Which I'm not saying for pity, or sympathy, or because I'm trying to explain more about myself. Well, maybe the last one. Anyway, it's relevant to the story but I don't want to talk about it more than that." He sighed, already exhausted by this amount of opening up. "I figured it out later than some people, I guess. It just suddenly struck me that I liked my friend Jake in a very different way than I should. It was kind of weird, because I still wanted to be around him, but he couldn't know about it. Then things get a little complicated, but that isn't really important to any of this.

"Freshman year, I went back home for Christmas, and Jake was there. I hadn't ever been that in love with someone, and while I was away I'd kind of made myself forget, but being around him again I just couldn't get away from it. Every second was a horrible reminder of who and what I was, and I felt so disgusting. I didn't want anyone to touch me, because I knew that if they knew the truth, they would hate me."

He noticed their faces. How they thought that he was being over dramatic about it. It irritated him. "Look, I know that you two are around liberal New Yorkers and liberal college students all the time, but things are different back home. There are places that black people can't even go because they aren't allowed, and that's current. Being gay can get you killed. There is a little grudging acceptance for stereotypical effeminate white gay men, but not for guys like me. It's dangerous, and the hatred is taught to you from as early as you can remember. Friendship only means so much."

The Washington's didn't respond verbally, but he could see the pity in their faces. It wasn't what he'd wanted. He wasn't even sure what it was that he  _did_  want, he just knew it wasn't that. It didn't matter though, he trekked on. "Whatever, the point is that that was how I felt. I wanted to be different for him and for my dad. I just wanted to be attracted to a woman for once." John stopped and drew in a shuddering breath. All of that had been bad enough, and hadn't even gotten to the mistake part that ended badly. "So when Jake introduced me to this girl, Martha Manning, I thought maybe it was a chance to prove something. To myself mostly, but also to everyone else. She was okay, I guess. Really nice and caring, and I did like her a lot, just not in the right way. We kind of started dating. It was short lived obviously, since it was just over beak, but we kind of ignored that. Then the break was almost over, and she-"

He broke off and put his face in his hands, trying to ignore the embarrassment of talking about this kind of thing with his own teacher. "She wanted to have sex. You know, since apparently that's something you have to do while you're dating. I thought that it might somehow cure me." He shrugged his good shoulder noncommittally. "And so we did it, and it was probably one of the worst experiences of my life. I didn't really want it, but I forced myself because I thought it would help. In the end it was okay though because we were never going to see each other again."

John sat up straight, and seriously considered ending the story there. Was a sexual encounter gone horribly wrong reason enough to be afraid of a name? Probably not. Then another realization struck him, that this whole thing probably wouldn't stay a secret much longer. Suddenly it felt very important to have someone know his side of the story. He couldn't tell Alex, and he couldn't tell Marie or Hercules, because if they knew then Alex would find out. He couldn't know about it. He stumbled forward with the story, no longer caring about any judgement. He deserved whatever he got for this.

"Well, that didn't really work out. A few months later, I got a text from her. She'd texted me before, but I just ignored her and hoped she'd go away, and she did. That's why it was so startling to have her texting me again. She told me that she needed to talk to me, and I figured it was something serious, so I called." He felt his voice crack, and he swallowed hard. "She was pregnant. Apparently it could only have been mine, so we had to talk about it. I was terrified, I didn't want to be a dad. I didn't want to be tied to this woman who I couldn't even look at because I got so sick at the thought of what we'd done. I called my dad, and begged him to help get me out of it, because in the end I'm a coward."

He watched the information settle with them. The knowledge that he was a father to some little kid. "Dad worked out a contract with her. She gets a generous amount of money every month so that she can raise our daughter, and the whole thing stays out of the press. I get to pretend that neither of them exist, and dad doesn't get any bad publicity for having his son be a deadbeat dad. Everyone is happy. Not that the contract will necessarily last now that I'm not his son anymore. We'll see."

It was hard to look at them. Here were two people who had so desperately wanted a child and never been able to have them, and he was telling them about the one he was stuck with but didn't want. He would understand if they were angry at him. It would be fair and reasonable. When all was said and done, he was the bad guy in this story. His reasons didn't matter, they didn't excuse anything.

George was the first one to say or do anything. He came across from his spot in the doorway to sit down next to John. Wrapped an arm around him, gently. For a long time it was quiet, but then he spoke. "You have a daughter?"

"Yeah. Her name is Frances Eugene or something like that. She'll be two in October." It was all that he knew about her. More than he wanted to know, really, but also very little information.

"Thank you for feeling like you can tell us about this. We all care about you so much." Martha had finished changing his bandages at some point during his story, and now she clasped his left hand in both of hers and rubbed her thumb soothingly across his knuckles. It was sweet and motherly thing to do, she was always sweet and motherly.

The wording of 'we all' concerned John. 'We both' would have been fine, but 'all' implied more than just the two of them. Were they planning on telling his friends, or did they just assume that he'd already told them himself? The thought of them sharing the last secret that he had left was enough to cause a wave of nausea. "Please, you can't tell anyone!" His voice was strained and pathetic, and he knew it, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. "Alex can't know about her!"

He could see the intake of breath as Martha realized just how much of a secret this was, that she and George really were the only ones who knew about it. In a way, she seemed more concerned by that. "You haven't told your friends?"

"No! I can't! Alex wouldn't understand!" John wailed, the desperation quickly rising in his voice. "I love him so much, and I couldn't stand having him hate me for it. He would hate me, I abandoned my own kid, he wouldn't ever forgive me for that."

"John, I don't think Alex would hate you," George replied evenly. He was always the calm one, the one trying to talk sense into other people. Well, usually trying to talk sense into John or Alex, but still. Anyway, he didn't know anything about it, because he didn't know about Alex's past. How could he possibly understand how sensitive an issue John abandoning his own child would be? "Even if he gets upset, he'll forgive you."

John shook his head. "No. He won't be upset, because he won't ever find out."

"But John."

"Please, don't tell him. I know it's unfair to ask you to protect my secrets." There could have, and maybe even should have been some kind of 'but' at the end of that sentence, but he couldn't think of a good reason for them to keep secrets for him. They didn't owe him anything. By all rights, Alex had done more to earn their confidence. Alex hadn't tried to get himself killed or hidden things that people close to him probably should have known.

George didn't say anything, possibly because he didn't approve of the kind of dishonesty. Martha, however, nodded slowly. "We won't tell him anything, honey. Someday you're going to have to though, especially if it stops being a secret after this. He'd rather hear about it from you than from someone else."

She was right, of course. John knew it deep down, even if he wouldn't admit it. "Thanks. I'll uh... I'll keep that in mind." he lied. Even saying it, there was no doubt in his mind that the Washingtons also knew it was a lie.

Without saying anything further, he got up and left. He didn't have anything else to say to either of them. Frankly, he also didn't want to hear anything else that either of them had to say. It was easier to pretend that things were still the same as they had been before, and that everyone thought his getting shot was an act of reckless heroism. The overt kindness made him feel guilty somehow, and he didn't like it.

"John." Before he could get out the door, Martha called him back. John closed his eyes and fought the urge to keep walking and ignore her. It wasn't too difficult. Walking away would have been rude, and he was constantly, almost painfully, polite. He stopped and looked back at her. "We know things are hard for you now, but it'll get better. We love you so much, and we're so proud of you for making it this far."

It was more than he thought he deserved, but he gave her a forced smile and left for his room. He needed solitude for a while.


	2. Your Pain Will Disappear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, talking with people who he viewed as impartial, people like teachers, was easier than talking to other people. Facing his friends when they knew that he wasn't a healthy, happy guy, that was one of the hardest things he'd ever done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I'm not going to do any spoilers up here, but please read the two questions at the bottom and answer them when you finish the chapter!

John usually hated being alone. It made him feel unnecessary and unwanted, and both of those tended to be bad things for him. Charging that robber and getting shot hadn't changed things for him the way he'd intended, but one thing it had changed was his outlook on time by himself. Having no one but his thoughts to keep him company hadn't gotten better exactly, but being around other people had gotten much worse.

In the hospital, John was almost never alone. With the Washingtons, he could be alone as long as it took for them to get worried and check in with him. In a way, he was glad he was with them, because it meant he didn't have to face his friends. They all wanted to come over and see him, of course, but they had to ask before they came over. Martha Washington was like John's personal angel, and she'd always ask if he was up for it. His reply was always the same, that he wasn't ready to see them.

Of course, with a person as concerned and motherly as her, he should have realized that at some point she would stop letting him hide behind her. On the fifth day, just after he'd divulged the fact that he had a child, she decided it was time for him to face them. She said it would be better this way, that she could make them leave whenever he wanted them to go. She said it would be easier, seeing them for a short amount of time before he went back to sharing a dorm with one of them. It was a fair point, even if he hated the idea.

That's how John ended up in the living room, sitting cross legged at one end of the couch with a stuffed turtle held tightly to his chest. Alex was sitting on the floor in front of him, exactly the opposite of how they usually sat. The role reversal felt a little weird, but that bothered him less than the fact that the seating arrangement had robbed him of the ability to look down when he didn't want to have to see anyone's face. On the other hand, it was better than sitting directly next to someone. Hercules had taken a spot on the other end of the couch, and Marie had shockingly chosen to sit in the armchair across from the couch. He was initially baffled by the fact that they weren't trying to hold him and comfort him until he remembered that they knew his aversion to being touched most of the time. They were making concessions for him, sitting places they normally wouldn't because they wanted him to feel comfortable. Logically he knew it should have made him feel all warm and fuzzy, but in actuality, the realization felt more like getting stabbed.

It was silent for a long time. An astoundingly long time, considering the fact that two of the biggest chatterboxes he knew were in the room. Eventually it was Marie who spoke up. "How are you feeling mon ami?"

John snorted loudly at the question before he could stop himself. "Well I'm alive and in pain, so I guess you could say things are pretty normal."

The looks he got back weren't what he usually got for a joke like that. Most of the time they laughed too, now they looked uncertain. It was like this was the first time they'd realized he was making fun of his real situation, and not just trying to be funny.

"Okay, so I guess that isn't funny anymore. My bad." John tried to keep his voice light, but he knew it sounded strained. It was hard to completely mask how deeply uncomfortable he was.

Alex was looking up at him, ever present in his peripheral vision. It was unnerving to have him so close, and so watchful, without hearing him say anything. It was also impossible to ignore, even when the other two were talking. "John, we're all worried about you. Why didn't you tell us that anything was wrong? We could have helped you." Hercules asked gently.

John sighed quietly and tried not to roll his eyes. That was exactly the kind of thing that Hercules would say. He was the kind of person it was impossible not to love, but he was also clueless. "You couldn't have helped me. Don't think that you could have or should have helped me. Please. It's my fault and only mine," he said quietly. "It isn't a recent thing, I've been this way for years. At least five. Longer than I've known any of you. I just got tired of it, I guess. None of you could have done anything to stop that."

"So what, you're completely hopeless?" It was the first thing Alex had said to him since that night in the hospital. He sounded angry.

This was what John had been most afraid of. He didn't care what most people thought about him, but Alex was a special case. Maybe it wasn't healthy, but a lot weighed on whether or not his boyfriend still liked him. He was afraid that this was going to ruin everything. It was part of the reason he'd been so reluctant to see him. Going on pretending that nothing had changed was easier than facing the possibility that something might have.

There was nothing he could say that would be a good answer to the question, that wouldn't make things worse. If he said he was hopeless, Alex would be angry that he'd just given up. If he said that he wan't, then he would be mad at him for giving up when he thought there was still hope. There was no right thing to do. "I'm sorry," he breathed. It wasn't even above a whisper.

"What did you think would happen if you died? Did you think that would fix anything? Try to tell me that this had nothing to do with some misplaced belief that you could become some sort of hero."

He always did have a way of cutting through to John's real motives. They knew each other too well. "You know I would be lying."

Alex was looking at him. It was hard to avoid eye contact without letting Hercules or Marie be able to see his face. "And if you did die, and if people did think you were a hero? What then?"

"I don't know, I guess I was hoping for a 'My Dead Gay Son' moment. A full musical number at my funeral. Dad would be so sad that I was gone that he would publicly declare that he loved me, and then he'd shame other homophobic people for making this world a harder place to live in. I wouldn't be opposed to him admitting he'd had gay sex before too." He cracked a smile in the hopes of lightening the mood. Lafayette at least would know what he was talking about. He was the one who'd dragged John to go see Heathers: The Musical.

It didn't work. Marie did smile a little, but if anything Alex looked appalled that he was still making jokes. "John, this isn't funny! We're seriously worried about you!"

"Don't be." It was an easy instruction to give, but he knew it wasn't that simple. "Look, I'm not making any active attempts to die. I never have, and I don't intend to. I couldn't. Taking death when it's right there is one thing, looking for it is another. I'm just not up for that. None of the mess, or even if it's neat, I couldn't leave someone to find my body. It wouldn't be fair to them. Besides, I wouldn't want to have people know it was suicide. I don't want to make people live with that. I don't want people to feel like they should have done something to stop it." At the looks he got from them, he sighed. "Telling you guys was an accident. I was on a lot of pain meds, half conscious, and I had no filter."

Hercules nodded, though it was hard to tell if he actually believed a word he said. "So you're saying that you aren't a danger to yourself?"

"Well, even if I was, you don't have to worry about me here. Good ol' mom Washington won't even let me shave without supervision. It's some 1984 level shit, constant surveillance." He laughed again. This time, at least, Hercules joined in. Possibly out of sympathy, but even if that was it, his fake laugh was very convincing. It calmed the atmosphere in the room significantly.

"What are moms for, right? I'm glad she's taking care of you."

John didn't always give Hercules the credit he deserved. Of their group of four, the two of them had been friends the longest. That alone didn't make him better exactly, but he did remember how things were when John was still closeted to absolutely everyone. Back when he didn't have many friends and he hated and distrusted everyone. Hercules was the one who'd been there since he started college to make sure he was always okay. He always turned conversations to make sure no one made John uncomfortable. In a way he did more to protect him than anyone else.

It was hard to convey the kind of thankfulness he felt for all that Hercules did with a look, but that didn't stop him from trying. He got a little smile in acknowledgement, but really it bothered him that he couldn't express what he wanted to without words. He knew he had a note laying around somewhere, and that would do it, but that wasn't the kind of thing that he could just give someone.

He had notes for everyone, actually, just in case he were to die and not get a chance to say goodbye. It was something he'd been doing for years, always prepared and hopeful. If things had gone the way they were supposed to, those notes would have been found by now. John felt himself drifting from the present situation as he thought about the notes. He really truly wanted them to be read. He wanted people to know how much he did love and appreciate them. How sorry he was, or would have been, to no longer be around for them. Of course, if anyone read them now, they would come across more as suicide notes than some kind of will. Well, maybe they would have come across that way anyway. He was lying to himself acting like writing notes to friends and family just in case he died was something normal people did.

"John?" Alex cut through his mental fog abruptly, and it became very clear that he'd missed something.

"Sorry, what?" He felt bad for not listening. After all that he'd done, he at least owed them his attention. Not that he really wanted to hear anything that they were saying, exactly. Actually all of that made him feel terrible. It was just a courtesy thing.

Luckily, Alex was usually the one spacing off, and he didn't really get angry about other people doing it to him. At least not if he liked the person at all, Jefferson would have been an exception to his understanding. "I was saying that even if you didn't mean to tell us about what really happened, you did tell us. We know now, and we want to help you. Will you let us?"

That again. "God, why do you people have to be like this? Stop wanting to help. You can't help me with this, and I mean I'm grateful to all of you for wanting to, but you can't. I have to work through this myself. Just please-" -he cut himself off when he felt that choking sobbing feeling rising in his throat. Why did this keep happening to him? He usually never cried without some kind of fresh trauma, but it seemed like he hadn't stopped crying since Christmas. He made another feeble attempt to finish without letting any outward signs of emotional distress show. "Please don't hate me."

It was a complete failure. Despite his best efforts, his voice cracked, and he could feel the tears streaming down his face. At least he wasn't gross sobbing though, that much he could appreciate.

"No, none of us hate you! None of us will ever hate you!" Alex had stood up as soon as he'd started crying, and now he was gently cradling John's head to his chest. It wasn't exactly comfortable. His neck was twisted at an awkward angle, and his injured arm sat useless and immobilized between them. His right hand just clung uselessly to Alex's shirt, since there was no good way to hug him from this position with only the one arm.

The most uncomfortable part wasn't the physical aspect though. Deep down, even hearing Alex say he would never hate him, he was terrified that it wasn't true. Sure, now he could say that, but he didn't know everything. John didn't have the courage to tell him. He wanted to cling to this moment. This point where Alex was so confident in his love, where he had no reason not to be.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he sobbed quietly into his boyfriend's stomach. He wondered if things would ever change, and if maybe someday he wouldn't feel this horrible crushing fear that the people he loved most wouldn't love him back anymore. He doubted it.

"It's okay John. It's all okay."

The three of them didn't stay for very long. They had classes to go to and even though they seemed content to skip for a day, Martha wouldn't have it. She said that their schooling was too important, and that John needed rest anyway. She wasn't wrong. Even though the visit couldn't have been more than two hours long, he was too exhausted to stay awake much longer. He was glad they'd come over though, it had helped to put his mind at ease. He felt better knowing that they didn't hate him.

* * *

John wasn't very close with Eliza Schuyler, not since everything that had happened with Alex. It wasn't like there was any bad blood between them, but John just couldn't look at her without feeling horribly guilty about stealing her boyfriend. She, of course, had reminded him multiple times that it was her who'd done the breaking up, and that really she'd left him for Theodosia. It didn't make him feel much better though.

When Eliza and her little sister Peggy showed up on the Washingtons' doorstep unannounced, he was understandably baffled. Even more so when they both hugged him, and at the same time for some reason. His injured arm was shoved hard against his body, and his pained whimper caused both of them to let go in a hurry. He felt bad about it right away, even though he new that it was illogical and making a noise in response to physical pain was completely normal.

"Why are you here?" It came out a little more bluntly than he'd intended. He was just really caught off guard by their being here, and by the fact that they'd brought him presents. Peggy was holding a box of the turtle shaped chocolates that people always seemed to think he'd like, and Eliza had a little stuffed turtle. By now, he probably had at least a dozen, not that he minded. He actually kind of loved the fact that people got him anything and everything turtle related, it made him feel like he was more important to their lives than he actually was, since they saw things and automatically thought of him.

Peggy was the one who answered, in her usual energetic way. "We're here to talk to you and make you feel better!"

"Alex told us that you won't let anyone help you, and we're here to talk to you about that," Eliza clarified. "And to bring you some things that made us think of you."

He should have known it would be something like that. Both sisters were painfully kind and considerate, and it was to be expected that they'd try to talk him into getting help. He sighed in irritation, but led them into the living room, where he flopped down on the couch. Eliza took the spot directly beside him, and John decided to put his legs in her lap. Back when they used to spend a lot of time together, that was how they usually sat. For the time being, he didn't see a reason not to be more personal again. They were going into a very personal subject, after all.

Again, there was a period of silence where they all looked at each other and tried to figure out who should talk first. John finally spoke up. "So you're going to try to get me to talk to you until I magically feel better, right?"

The annoyance on Peggy's face was unmistakable as she glowered at him. Sweet and friendly as she was, John was pretty sure she could kick his ass. "No, we're going to try to convince you to get _professional_ help. Not that opening up about what's going on would be bad, but you need more than that."

"Professional help?" Somehow he hadn't been expecting that. "I don't... I can't get professional help."

Eliza gave his legs a comforting pat. "Yes you _can_ , John. It's okay."

"I'm not saying I can't because of some misplaced pride thing, I mean that I actually _can't_ ," John argued. "I couldn't back when I had money because dad doesn't really believe in mental illness, and now I'm too broke to afford that shit. It's whatever though, I can handle it on my own."

He kind of wished he had pictures of both of their faces so he could capture the incredulous looks they gave him. "No offense, but if this is your idea of 'handling it' you need all the help you can get." Peggy squinted at him.

"Rude."

"John, you have so many people who want to help you, and quite a few of us have money to spare. If paying for therapy is what we need to do to help, we'll be more than happy to do it." Eliza ignored her sister and took a more friendly and polite stance. That was the kind of person she was. "You have to make an appointment yourself, we can't force you to, but we all want you to be happy again."

"Again," John snorted. "Guys, I don't think you realize how long this has been going on. It's just a part of who I am now, I can't go to therapy to fix something that's become a central part of my personality. And even if I could, why would any of you encourage that? I'd be a different person. I wouldn't be the same guy that you all enjoy being around." 'Enjoy' seemed like a strong word, but he realized correcting it would make him sound worse off. If he wanted them to shut up about this, he had to show that he was in perfect mental health.

Peggy had apparently stopped taking part in the conversation at some point, and now she was sitting in the armchair, watching them and eating from the box of chocolate turtles she had brought for him. Eliza didn't even notice it. "We're your friends and we care about you. If being happy for you means moving on and drifting away from us, we'll still support you. We aren't going to keep you suicidal just because we know we like you as a person when you're like that."

John hated to admit it, but that was actually a really good argument. He couldn't legitimize the belief that his friends cared about him and the belief that his friends didn't want him to get better at the same time. Only one could be true, and he did believe Eliza. All of them, all of his friends, were too good to him.

"Eliza, I can't do it. I wouldn't feel comfortable having you guys pay for it." She visibly deflated at his words. "Really, I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

"John, we can't just not worry about you!" If he didn't know her better, John might have thought she was actually angry with him. As it was, he knew she was just frustrated with the situation. She was the kind of person who always wanted to help everyone. Well, he was irritated too. He didn't like being a burden or having people worry about him, but just look at how that was working out. 

"Then leave!" John knew that he'd messed up right away. He sounded too angry, too mean. He didn't mean to hurt her feelings. He never meant to hurt her feelings, although it seemed like he did it a lot. Looking at her, seeing her wounded expression, he felt like a terrible person. He couldn't take it back though. "Out of sight out of mind, right? Just go. I'm fine."

In a way he wasn't expecting them to actually do it, but they did. Peggy glared at him the whole time, and didn't give him any of the chocolates. Eliza handed him the turtle and left after a stiff goodbye. He felt terrible.

* * *

The two sisters recruited Hercules, Marie, and Alex to their cause. Soon he was hearing a lot about needing to go to therapy. John was pretty sure that peer pressuring him into something that was supposed to be voluntary was violating some kind of rule. He wanted them all to just let it go, but they wouldn't. Even Thomas Jefferson and James Madison got in on it, which was kind of infuriating, because those two had never gotten along with any of John's friends before. It was irritating that he had to be the one person in the group who they liked. And it didn't help that he was back in his dorm where he really had to deal with everyone all the time.

Aaron Burr, at least, had the decency to shut up about it. He and John knew too much about each other to really get on each other's nerves. They had a weird relationship, constructed around tip toeing around each other's feelings so that they wouldn't expose each other's secrets. In a way though, it was one he would consider an okay friendship. John found that he sort of admired Burr. He was brave, in his own cowardly way. Regardless, he was thankful to have at least one person to talk to who didn't keep turning things back to his need for professional help.

John knew it was stupid. He knew that therapy was a good idea, and he should be jumping on the opportunity to have someone else pay for it. He just couldn't shake the feeling that a therapist would tell whoever was paying about everything he said, and then they would tell everyone else. Or if that didn't happen, his personality would change too much and his friends would start hating him. Getting better would mean things changing, and he was too uncertain about whether those changes would be good.

When Angelica Schuyler came all the way back from New York City to see him, he knew he was in trouble. She didn't even have to say anything for him to know that her sisters had called her out here, and he knew what that meant.

"You know we can't make you go to therapy, right?"

It wasn't how he had expected her to start out, that was for sure. "Yeah, I know. That's the good part about being an adult."

"Well, do you also realize that means we would have to use more drastic means to make sure you're okay? I can guarantee that everyone is going to be hyper vigilant now, and when you start showing any kind of worrisome behavior, they're going to do _something_. If you won't cooperate, that means something bad. Like, involuntary psychiatric hold kind of bad." She said flatly. "Look, I'm not here to try to threaten you. I don't even live here anymore, so there's no way that I could do it. I just want you to be aware of what might happen."

"I'm glad that you clarified that this isn't threatening, because it really sounds that way." John replied. Involuntary psychiatric hold, that was... Not good. She was right, he hadn't thought about that possibility.

Angelica gave him one of her stern looks that could cause even the bravest of people to balk. "I'm informing you of the possible consequences of your decision. You deserve to know them. I don't think any of us wants to do that to you, or even thinks it would be really helpful, but that's what they'll have to do if they think you're a danger to yourself." She stopped and patted him on the cheek. "That's all I wanted to say. I'm going out with my sisters, but please think it over. We'll come back later."

No asking permission there, he noticed. They would be over whether he liked it or not. It did give him time to think though. "Right, see you then."

John spent hours mulling it all over in his head. On one hand, he really didn't like the idea of therapy. When it came right down to it, his father had raised him not to believe in it, and he was wary and suspicious because of it. On the other hand, therapy sounded a whole hell of a lot less awful than being put in a psychiatric ward against his will. It reminded him of every horror movie that took place in an asylum, even if he did know that realistically it wouldn't be like that.

Eventually Alex came back from classes. John still wasn't going to class, he wasn't ready to face other students yet. He got notes from whoever he knew and liked in a class, and did all his work from home. He'd also gone in to see some teachers. Most of them were nice about it, and Alex didn't seem to mind even though it meant they were spending a lot less time together.

"Hey babe, is everything okay?" Alex asked him gently, after a minute or so of silence. Usually John greeted him when he walked in, so his brooding silence was probably cause for concern.

John let out a long sigh. "Yeah, it's fine." His boyfriend did not look convinced. "Can you just hold me for a little while? It's been a long day."

Alex was obliging enough to that request. He set aside a notebook he'd been reading from and came over to where John sat, in the chair between their beds. Gently, ever so gently, he pushed back his messy curls and kissed him on his forehead, his cheeks, his nose. He kissed every inch of his face, and when he was done, he pulled him into bed and held him close. John didn't do much in response, just nuzzled his face deeper into Alex's chest and let him stroke his hair back.

He was thankful that Alex didn't ask him more question. He knew that he probably was burning with the need to know what he meant and what had happened, but he was silent. Silence was good, nice even. Better than the stress of keeping up conversation, especially conversation on such a weighted subject. One that they already knew they disagreed on.

"Hey, Alex?" He kept his voice low and quiet, so as not to disturb the otherwise tranquil environment.

"Yeah?"

"I love you," he whispered. It was so quiet that even he could hardly it. "I love you so much. Thank you for everything."

Perhaps he hadn't thought through the consequences of saying something like that when he was already showing signs of distress. Alex pulled back a little to look at his face with concern. "Hey, are you sure everything is okay? What happened today?"

John whined a little, but sighed. The moment was already ruined, so it didn't really matter if they talked about it. Besides, Angelica would be back any minute, so Alex should probably be prepared for that. "Angelica came back from the city, and she came over to see me today," he started. "And of course we talked about therapy, since that's the only thing anyone ever wants to talk to me about these days." He didn't mind the fact that it came out as a jab at him, he meant it that way. "And she pointed out that things could get really awful if I don't. Like not awful as in getting shot three times in a bank robbery, but different awful. Awful because people are trying to help because they actually know what's up now, and I end up trapped in a psych ward against my will."

Alex looked horrified. Was it because Angelica had been so blunt with him, or because John was so willing to believe her? He couldn't really tell.

"Anyway, I guess I'm going to therapy now. Which is tiring, because I still don't want to go, even though I know it'll probably be good for me," he finished. "So you should be happy, everyone's getting what they wanted. Just stop trying to leave right now, she's coming back to see what I decided later and I need this."

He still didn't seem completely happy, but he complied. His hand found its way back to his hair, and he continued to smooth it back. "Well I'm sorry she scared you into going. I'm glad it worked, and I think once you start going, it won't be as bad as you think."

John snorted. "Yeah, probably not."

"Hey, John?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you too."

They stayed like that for a while, and John felt himself starting to drift off to sleep, but then there was a knock on the door. He was glad, at least, that both of them were startled enough to jump. "That's probably her." John muttered, and then rolled out of bed without letting his left shoulder take any of his weight. It was weird looking, he was sure, but he'd actually gotten quite good at it.

Sure enough, when he opened the door, all three Schuyler sisters came in. Angelica led them around like a mother duck. "Alex, you're here!"

"Yes, hi." His boyfriend looked a little flustered, like he always did around her. Not that John could blame him, Angelica was very intimidating, in her own way. She was so smart and she could always see right through everyone. It was a little unnerving at times.

"And John, the man we're all here to see." She must have had a good day, because she was very upbeat. It made him more nervous though. "So, have you thought about what I said?"

"I have." He murmured quietly. This was it, he could still back out if he really wanted to. Alex was the only one who would know, and he wasn't the type to call John out in a situation where he was already super uncomfortable. "And I guess I'll go to therapy." The collective happy gasp from all three women might have made him laugh, if he wasn't screaming internally. "But, I reserve the right to stop going if I really don't think it's helping."

Even though he saw them coming, he really wasn't prepared for all three women to hug him. Apparently they kept forgetting the fact that he'd been shot three times, and it still hurt like a bitch. He tried to hold back his his of pain, but it came out anyway, and again caused them to back away with a few murmured apologies.

"Have you eaten yet?" Peggy asked him eagerly.

"Well no, but-"

"Good, we're taking you out!" She took his good hand and practically dragged him out the door, completely oblivious to his objections. He didn't have enough money to go out to eat, and he didn't want them to pay. They were already paying for therapy, he didn't need their food!

Eliza seemed thrilled though. "I remember you like Indian food. I'll text Marie and Hercules to come with us if they haven't had dinner yet!"

"Guys, we really don't need to go out!" He protested.

"Yes we do! We're going to celebrate!" Angelica agreed with her siblings. John looked back to Alex for help, but he was locking the door behind them, signaling that he was perfectly okay with this.

Was he like this when he had money to spare? Probably. "We could also celebrate at McDonald's or something that costs less!" He suggested.

"John, we are not taking you to _McDonald's_ for a celebration. Besides, cost doesn't matter. This is our treat!" Eliza added. "You're going to eat some good food and have a good time!"

John didn't bother to point out that the fact that they were paying was part of the concern, he understood that the clarification wouldn't really matter to any of them. Maybe this whole thing wouldn't be so bad. Maybe therapy would be better than he thought. It was hard to say. Regardless, he did have people who wanted to help him. People who may or may not care for him unconditionally.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, so it seems like you guys want to hear about John telling Alex about Frances. I was not originally going to put that into this story, it was going to be a separate work in the series, but since you've shown interest in relationship to this story I'm reconsidering. The first question is that. Would you prefer John telling Alex to be in this story so you can know about it when it's up if you bookmark it? The second question is about the letters he's written to everyone. Would you guys be interested in reading those as well?  
> If you could answer those either in a comment or in a ask/message to me on tumblr (incredibly-cold.tumblr.com) then that would be really great! Like seriously please tell me what you'd prefer.

**Author's Note:**

> It's me back with a double dose of suffering. And when I say double, I mean in chapter two he has to deal with his friends. You can follow/talk to me at incredibly-cold.tumblr.com. Comments are fantastic, and I will ask for them shamelessly. Please tell me what you think. Tell me if it hurt you. Nothing motivates me to prioritize writing over real life quite like some comments.


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